Her climax builds quickly, her walls clenching around me. I feel my own release approaching, my demonic nature threatening to break free. With a final thrust, we both come undone, our cries of ecstasy mingling in the air.
The furs beneath us are damp with sweat, our bodies still entwined. Meetha's head rests on my chest, her breathingslowly returning to normal. I run my fingers through her hair, marveling at its softness. Such a stark contrast to the harshness of her life.
"What happens now?" she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I consider her question. In truth, I don't know. My plans have always revolved around the ring, but now... Now I find myself oddly reluctant to leave her side.
"Well," I reply, my voice low. "Your father will return soon."
10
MEETHA
Jarvil's heavy footsteps echo through our small dwelling, accompanied by... giggling? A woman's voice?
"Where's that useless elf?" Jarvil's slurred words reach me before I see him.
I rise from the floor where I'd been curled up, my body aching from hours of sobbing. The scent of death still lingers in the air, a stark reminder of what transpired mere hours ago.
My mother's face flashes before my eyes—her kind smile, now forever silenced. The ache in my chest threatens to consume me. How can the world keep turning when she's gone? The grief is a physical weight, pressing down on me, making each breath a struggle.
But as Jarvil's drunken voice cuts through my sorrow, that crushing sadness begins to shift. A spark of anger ignites in my gut, growing hotter with each passing moment.
"He's gone," I manage to croak out.
Jarvil stumbles into view, dragging a woman behind him. Her gaudy makeup and revealing clothes leave little doubt about her profession. My stomach churns.
"Good riddance," he grunts. "Meet your new mother."
The woman giggles again, clearly intoxicated. "Ooh, you didn't tell me you had a daughter!"
I stare at them in disbelief, bile rising in my throat. "Are you serious? Korrine’s body isn't even cold yet!"
Jarvil's eyes narrow dangerously. "Watch your tone, girl. Your mother was nothing but a whore. This one's an upgrade."
A memory flashes through my mind—Jarvil, years ago, his face twisted with grief and rage.
"She tricked me," he'd snarled, reeking of cheap ale. "Your mother... she told me she was a good woman, a wife who would serve. Made me love her. And now I'm stuck with you, a constant reminder of her lies."
I push the memory aside, bile rising in my throat. His bitterness, his cruelty—it all stems from that perceived betrayal. But it doesn't excuse what he's become.
"How dare you?" I spit out, trembling with rage. "She was ten times the person you'll ever be!"
The slap comes so fast I barely see it. Pain explodes across my cheek, and I taste blood.
"You ungrateful little bitch," Jarvil snarls. "I should've drowned you at birth."
I don't wait to hear more. I shove past them, fleeing into the night. The cool air hits my face, carrying the stench of the city – rotting garbage, unwashed bodies, and despair.
I run without direction, my bare feet slapping against the cobblestones. That pathetic bastard clearly hasn’t learned anything. This is the last straw.
"Milkor!" I cry out into the night, my voice hoarse and desperate. "Where are you?"
The streets echo my pleas, but no answer comes.
I collapse against a grimy wall, my legs finally giving out. The adrenaline fades, leaving me hollow and lost. What am I doing? Where can I possibly go?
For a moment, I consider returning home. The thought makes me physically ill. No, there's nothing left for me there. Just pain and bitter memories.